The Prince of Ravenscar (40 page)

She pictured Ravenscar in her mind and turned south.
You think you can outrace monsters? Prove it.
She ran as fast as she could across the open expanse to the edge of the cliff, and skidded to a stop, felt the earth breaking off beneath her feet, and frantically windmilled her arms. She got her balance and crawled to the cliff edge and looked down. It was a sheer drop to the beach below. She wanted to cry. Then she saw it—a narrow snaking path tracing back and forth across the cliff wall all the way down to the beach. She was so grateful, she nearly cried.

She heard a loud cracking gun report, but she didn't hesitate. She dashed down that path, tripped and fell to her knees, rocks digging into her hands and knees as she scrabbled wildly for purchase. She grabbed the branch of a scraggly bush and managed to pull herself flat against the cliff. And waited.

Another gunshot. Was it closer? She simply couldn't tell. Had they seen her running toward the cliff? And on this, the worst day of her life, she knew they had.

She heard a man's shout.

She looked down to the beach, sucked in her breath, and ran, trusting her balance and her feet.

R
oxanne is smart.”

Devlin knew he was saying this aloud more for his benefit than for Julian's and Sophie's. Like the others, he was hunched forward, the hat on his head giving him some protection from the rain. Sophie had a scarf tied around her head.

“It's true,” Sophie said, “she is smart. She'll do something, I know she will. Devlin, you shouldn't even be out of bed.” Sophie leaned close to his horse to poke him lightly in the arm. “And it's raining, you could get sick—oh, very well, that doesn't make sense, does it? Please, don't fall off your horse.”

He wasn't listening. His head felt like it was going to split open, and he was so scared for Roxanne he wanted to vomit. But Roxanne was smart. She would figure out something. She would keep herself alive until—dear God, he just wanted her to be whole and safe.

Julian said even as he kept scanning all around them, “A pity we couldn't get Leah to confess anything. All she did was defend Richard, claiming he was in London.”

Sophie snorted. “I could have gotten everything out of her if you'd only let me chew off her cheek.”

Julian laughed. He didn't know where it had come from, but he was becoming quite used to laughing, even at strange times, like now.

“Perhaps we should split up,” Devlin said.

“No.” Julian shook his head. “One alone could become a victim as well. We stay together.”

Sophie frowned. “We've looked everywhere. Wait, what about the cliffs?”

“The cliffs?” Julian turned to face her. “What would she be doing at the cliffs? There's no place to hide there.”

“I don't know why, but it feels right.”

They said nothing more, each of them intent on searching the countryside, blurred and indistinct through the pounding rain.

At least a dozen men were out, searching southward. Mayhap they'd found her, but, oddly, Julian didn't think so. He looked over at Sophie. She looked fierce.

It pleased him. They rode through a small forest of trees and out on the open land that led to the cliffs.

They dismounted a dozen feet from the cliff edge, since the heavy rain was turning the ground to mud, and walked carefully to the edge to look down.

They could see nothing through the rain, it was that thick. Then, suddenly, the rain lessened. Sophie pointed to the distant horizon. The sun was trying to come out behind a black cloud. Devlin shouted, “There's Roxanne. Look, there are men after her.”

 

 

 

L
eah didn't know what to do. She paced the drawing room, thankful the duchess had left her finally to go to breakfast, since she'd politely refused to say anything more. What could she have said, in any case?

Surely Richard wouldn't have taken Roxanne. Surely. He certainly hadn't taken her the first time, because she and Richard had been together, not ready to eat their picnic luncheon but to make love beneath that lovely old willow tree, when Julian, Sophie, and Devlin had burst upon them.

But he could have hired some men to take her.
She couldn't believe it, wouldn't believe it. And she'd kept insisting that Julian was taken with Roxanne, not Sophie. Had Richard believed her? Had he acted?

How had it come about that the prince wanted Sophie? Leah suddenly saw her as a little girl, eager, delighting in everything. Bethanne, her mother, so in love with her own child, petting her, laughing with her in pure joy. But she wasn't a little girl now. She was twenty years old. Old enough to marry, old enough to marry a man twelve years her senior, and she'd been selected by his own mother. Leah had heard Julian say Sophie was too young for him, more like a niece, and she'd believed him. That claim had fallen by the wayside, hadn't it?

Leah couldn't stand it. She had to discover if Richard was behind this madness. She quickly ran upstairs to her bedchamber, donned a riding habit and boots, and rushed to the stables. No one tried to stop her. No one even spoke to her, but she saw some of their looks, shot at her from nearly averted faces, dislike radiating from all of them.

They all hated her. They all believed she was guilty of allowing the kidnapping of her own sister.

She wanted to scream that she hadn't even known about it until Sophie and Julian had told her.

The stable lad whose name she didn't know blocked her way. “I must have a horse. Now. Saddle a mare for me.”

“No, missis, I daren't. Only the prince can tell me to saddle a mare for ye.” The stable lad paused, and he looked beyond her left shoulder. “As ye know, milady, the prince is searching for Miss Roxanne. Yer sister.”

Leah was so scared, so furious, she shoved the lad aside, marched into the stables, found herself what looked like a sweet-tempered mare, led her out, managed to saddle her, something she hadn't done for a good ten years, but she hadn't forgotten how. She pulled over a mounting block. She was panting when she was finally on the mare's back.

“Ye shouldn't oughtta steal the mare,” the stable lad shouted at her, wringing his hands. She would have ridden him down if he hadn't quickly moved out of the way.

She rode toward Hardcross Manor.

But how could Richard be at Hardcross Manor?
He left for London only yesterday; he hasn't even arrived in London yet.

The sky, black clouds hanging low, opened up, and rain poured down. She cursed, urged the mare to go faster.

The rain beat down, soaking through her skirts, her petticoats. She'd not even thought about a riding hat.

There were no trees, only open country. She clucked the mare faster, leaned down to press against the mare's neck, and hung on.

She smelled horse sweat, and, oddly, it smelled good, and she saw herself as a young girl, riding across the countryside. She remembered once when Roxanne had ridden with her and had been thrown when a crow spooked her mare. And Leah had pulled her free of the briars, where she'd luckily landed, and taken her home, praying as hard as she could.

So very long ago.

Would Richard be at Hardcross Manor?

R
oxanne looked over her shoulder to see all three men running after her. No use in trying to hide now.

She was exhausted, but so were they. She wasn't a weak female. Unlike those bullyboys who'd probably spent all their time in a town, she'd spent her life walking all over the Belthorpe moors.

She had no intention of letting them catch her.

She wouldn't let them get close enough. She felt good, her heart pumping. Thankfully, the pain in her side was gone. Since they didn't have their bloody horses, it was a footrace now, and she was going to win.

As she ran, she kept searching for another path upward. There had to be one. She saw absolutely no one, saw no sign of a house on the cliff. But then again, who would build near a cliff?

She held her skirts up higher and continued to run, her pace steady. She didn't look back again. She heard an occasional shout, a gunshot, but nothing near her. What were they shooting at? Did the fools expect her to stop and raise her arms in surrender? Did they think her so stupid?

She was wearing boots, a good thing for welcoming a bunch of smugglers to the beach but not so good for running, since they were heavy and growing heavier by the minute.

She kept her pace steady, tried to keep her breathing steady.

She looked upward when she saw a sign of movement. There, on top of the cliff. What was up there? What had she seen?

It didn't matter if she'd seen only the play of shadows against the sky, because right ahead, she saw a narrow path snaking back and forth up the cliff.

The path was steep and slippery from all the rain. She was heaving now. She couldn't help it, she took a quick look back. The three men were only twenty yards behind her. Two of them were flagging, but one of the men, their leader, she thought, was running hard. Another minute and he would be close enough to shoot her.

She leaned nearly to the ground and moved as quickly as she could up the winding path.

She looked up at the sound of a shout.

It was the most precious voice she'd ever heard in her life. It was Devlin's voice, and he was there, on top of the cliffs, waiting for her, and she pressed forward, trying desperately not to slip, climbing for all she was worth toward his voice.

She heard the man climbing up below her. Hadn't he heard Devlin's voice? Didn't he know he was now the prey?

She threw back her head and yelled, “Devlin, you're wearing your hat!” When she felt his strong hand pull her up, she laughed and threw herself against him. “Their leader, he's behind me. It's not Richard. His voice sounded familiar to me, but I can't place it. He's still coming. Give me a gun, Devlin, I want to shoot him.”

 

 

 

L
eah threw the mare's reins at the gaping stable boy.

“Is Master Richard here?”

The boy quickly tugged on his forelock. “No, milady, 'e went to Lunnon, don't ye recall? Ye was 'ere when 'e left.”

“Of course I remember, you idiot.” She didn't wait for him to assist her down. She jumped, nearly fell, but straightened and ran toward the manor.

The front door opened before she made it to the top of the stone steps. It was Vicky.

“Leah! Goodness, whatever is the matter? What are you doing here? Oh, my, you're wet to your skin. Come in, come in.”

Thank God for Vicky.
She was leading her inside the manor, bemoaning how wet she was, and asking her over and over what had happened.

Leah grabbed her arm. “Vicky, none of that matters. Is Richard here? Has he returned?”

“Richard?” Vicky cocked her head to the side. “You know he went to London. He was going to perform some task for our father.”

Some task for Lord Purley?
Richard had said it was business, and she'd assumed it was his own private affairs.

“Take me to your father; I must speak to him now.”

“He isn't here, Leah. He went riding, even knowing it was going to rain. I don't know when he'll be back. I do hope he does not return ill. What has happened? What is wrong?”

Leah didn't want to scare Vicky. She had to get hold of herself. She drew in one deep breath, then another and yet another. “All right, everything is all right. Yes, I'm very wet. May I borrow some dry clothes?”

Vicky took Leah to her bedchamber and clucked over her as Leah stripped off her clothes behind an ornate Japanese screen and put on dry ones. She accepted only two petticoats—who needed a dozen petticoats?—and pulled the lovely gown over her head. Vicky hooked the buttons up her back.

“Here are slippers.” The slippers, naturally, matched the green of the gown, a lovely soft Pomona green. Then Vicky sat her in front of the dressing-table mirror and began toweling her hair dry. If Leah wasn't mistaken, Vicky was humming, very intent on what she was doing.

Leah said, “Roxanne was kidnapped again. Last night. She was taking part in Julian's final smuggling operation.”

Vicky stared at her. “Smuggling? Goodness, there hasn't been any smuggling in Cornwall forever. Well, not much that I've ever heard about. The prince—he's a smuggler? How very romantic that is. However do you know this?”

“No one told me. I overheard Julian and Devlin speaking of it. Romantic? Well, it didn't turn out that way. Devlin was with Roxanne, and he was struck down. When he awoke, Roxanne was gone. Everyone is out looking for her. I had to know—” Her voice fell dead. She looked mutely in the mirror at Vicky, who was working loose a tangle in her damp hair.

“You have beautiful hair, Leah.”

“That's not important now. Didn't you hear what I said? Roxanne is missing. Someone took her.”

“It appears someone is always taking her. Are you certain she didn't whisk herself away this time? Mayhap because she likes the attention?”

That is something I would say.
“Vicky, that makes no sense. Roxanne is sensible.”

Vicky shrugged. “Who knows what another will do and why? Is Devlin all right?”

“Yes, yes, a minor head injury, no more than that.”